Imagination, that’s what we need
I-Fucking-magination
where are the girls with that elusive gift?
maybe there are some here in LA.
if you buy that, I’ve got a script
you might wanna take a look at.
I mean, where are the zine writers?
where are the girls
who spend saturday mornings
breaking into junkyards
for art supplies?
where are the girls who
wear combat boots so well
that they must have
invented the fucking things?
where are the girls whose photos
could make you cry for no reason?
where are the girls who look sexiest
holding a revolver?
or the girls who
like to get drunk and fight?
or the girls who
break things for fun?
or the ones whose favorite sound
is breaking glass?
the ones
who cry
every time
they hear
dreams
by the cranberries?
the ones who
were gay before college?
the ones who called a date
stealing a pack of cigarettes
and splitting it with you?
the ones who
understand the beauty
of a hay field?
the ones who didn’t understand
the beauty they posessed?
the ones who
created universes
with their imaginations?
remember imagination?
that’s how this started.
that’s why I’m here.
but I’m willing to give LA another chance.
so if you know what the fuck
I’m talking about,
come talk about it with me
and you might just change my mind.

is it possible to have only small brushes with any emotion whatsoever for three years straight? I mean, ever since I came to LA, I’ve not really felt anything at all. is there something wrong with that. I hope there is. I also realize that part of this is the fact that I have absolutely no inspiration at all. and haven’t reall since I’ve been out here. which coincides with the point at which I stopped being able to to crush on anyone.

I see people’s journals on here. sixteen, seventeen year old kids going through the same stuff I was and the collective we were going through then, same manic intensity, same self centrality, same willingness to throw yourself at someone and have your heart truly, truly broken. man, I’m talkin’ fucked UP broken here. and it just makes me smile. so quaint, so honest, so true.

it’s like we’re all at some big dance club and there are these throngs of kids out on the floor trampling death pampalona style, straight gettin’ down and enjoying life, the head spinning beauty of their first crush, swimming in all that shit that we all swam in like the hudson those years ago.

Goddamn I envy them. But at the same time I don’t at all. You’ll notice, 16, 17 is when all those kids are most noticeable. then the world crushes them. no, seriously, full on. shitty jobs, shitty apartments, no dough or time for a computer or a night on the town, so they stay to their own, watch sitcoms and start very bad self-destructive habits like codependency and servility. Shit that makes drugs look like mom and baseball. I don’t envy them. I got out, I got through, I remained relatively whole and sanct. But still I see there’s something wrong…

So they’re all out on this dancefloor, right… and y’know, there are the loud ones, the quiet ones, the ones that dance like everyone else, the cute girl in the rocky horror wear totally freaking out on her own, the guy who’s having fun and doesn’t notice that everyone thinks he’s a dork. but if he did, he wouldn’t care. even the ones from the latter group that would care. there are the kids around the edge of the floor – well, wallflowers.

but look beyond that, beyond the further reaches where the 20-21 yr old ones are getting plastered at the bar, beyond the ones sitting quietly holding hands with their otherONEs, or foursfivessixesdozens meditating in their earnest serene circles. Out there. In the corner. No, look harder. Over in the dark. yeah, there. Hawkishly, protectively staring out at the dance floor with a darting gaze intent on preserving this movement this moment this “this means something” for the high school kids. That’s me, slouching, gazing, wishing, holding tight there with a chrome .45 under this filmnoirtrenchcoat. trying to avenge my growing up by making that seventeen year old moment last for as long as I can for these kids, even if I have to do it at gunpoint.

Because the thismeansomething is all you’ll ever have. lose it you wind up jaded, wounded, drunk. keep it, it’s the fire, the drive, the reason to get up, the glimmer in her eye, the spark of her lighter spiting darkness, the doublespressoshots to wash down the espresso beans. every crush should be your first. hold on to it. why am I doing this? because i don’t ever wanna see any kid lose their thismeansomething like I did.

“Brian Wilson.”- to brian wilson is to take a respite from the horrors of this life by just simply lying in bed or sitting in your room, no music, no one else around, windows and blinds closed at fear of letting in any sunshine or fresh air, aka theoutsideworld. (note: probably my own best brian wilson was when I came home from studio, and proceeded to lie awake in my darkened living room for four hours. I didn’t feel like doing anything. going out, sleeping, eating, listening to music, talking, nothing. it was a nice break)

“Grover Cleveland”- On top of sharing a name with the worst place in the world, ol Grove was the only person in US history stupid enough to go back for a second helping of the presidency four years after his first term was over. This is like getting back together with an ex-. It’s sad, pitiful, stupid and silly. so to “Grover Cleveland” is to go back out with someone you shouldn’t have even gone out with in the first place.

“Hunter Thompson”- no one could ever do anything that would be on parallel with the absolute gall, insanity, brilliance and sheer mindlessness of anything circa 1971 Hunter Thompson. So this is really a useless definition. Y’see, the trick is that HST, against the laws of nature and what’s good and right in this world, has survived. So if you were that good, you’d be a celebrity and we could name this after you.

“Brian Jones”- Attempting to take a little nap in the pool after consuming massive quantities of alcohol, or something with an equal amount of precognized, yet somehow unrealized danger. Like dating some of the people I know.